


one by one we fall

by whalers



Series: otp: loyal to a fault [1]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, High Chaos (Dishonored), High Chaos Corvo Attano, but take it as you will, the ship is only viewed from thomas' pov so!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 08:30:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11414094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalers/pseuds/whalers
Summary: They don’t deserve this. He narrows his eyes and continues his writing, spurred on by a fresh wave of anger. If Corvo comes for them, he’ll tear through every one of them to get to Daud. Thomas can’t let that happen. He won’t let Daud be killed, no matter how much the man seems to think it’s inevitable, that he deserves it.; in a high chaos run, Thomas muses on everything that has happened and what he must do with the options given to him.





	one by one we fall

They are not good people. Thomas doesn’t care what Rulfio says when they’ve drank too much wine on the night of the Fugue Feast. He can think whatever he likes. But as they get older and the bodies pile up, Thomas comes to the firm conclusion that they are not and have never been good people. Good people don’t kill others for money. Good people don’t have warrants out for their arrest (WANTED: ASSASSINS -- DEAD OR ALIVE), good people don’t have a hand in destroying the empire. Good people don’t _do these things_.

But does that mean they deserve bad endings? Is it entirely their fault, when people line up to hire them in the first place? Assassins don’t hire themselves. They’re simply the weapons who carry out the deed so they can receive money to survive. They were all street kids, destined to end up in much worse conditions than this. At least, with this, they have a family. They have people they can rely on, care for, _love_. What else is out there for them? Thomas will follow Daud to the ends of the earth. Daud isn’t a good man by definition. Assassins aren’t good people. But take the assassin title away, what is he then?

Thomas has a lot of thoughts he’ll never voice to anyone but the unjudging pages of his journal. Daud saved his life. Thomas will never, could never, dream of betraying him. He could never dream of walking away. He needs Daud. Many of them do. They’re all a team. A terrible team of terrible people who do terrible things. But does it even matter, in the end? There will always be assassins for hire. There will always be people willing to do unsavoury acts for coin. They’re far from the first. Besides, Thomas thinks the Outsider appreciates a little mayhem. Isn’t that why he grants people his mark in the first place?

 

* * *

 

Corvo is more ruthless than any of them expect. Talk of a masked man slaying people (innocent and guilty alike) and painting the streets red reaches the farthest corners of the city. The overseers are jittery, restless, sending wolfhounds after anything that moves in the shadows. The City Watch keep their hands on their swords, their guns always at the ready. The civilians who have avoided the plague stay in their houses or the dark alleys of the city. They don’t want to meet the masked man. They don’t want their lives to be cut short for no reason other than being in the way. This isn’t just simple revenge. This is mass murder.

Thomas can at least say they aren’t as bad. People are scared of them, of course. Everyone knows their masks, everyone knows Daud’s name. But they know Daud and the whalers don’t go on murder sprees. They only hurt the people they’re paid to. They don’t go out of their way to cause needless destruction. Point them in the right direction, give them the orders, and they will do as they’re told. What Corvo is doing is nothing like what they’ve done.

“I thought the Royal Protector was supposed to _protect_ , not throw the city into further chaos,” Jenkins mutters, flicking the ashes from his cigarette.

Thomas glances up from his journal. The low fire in the corner casts eerie shadows around the room. It’s late; a lot of the others are sleeping around them, but some haven’t been able to sleep well since the hit on the empress, or (especially) since Corvo escaped prison. How long will they be safe here? Corvo hasn’t come for them yet, but will he? Daud seems to believe he will. Daud also seems appalled by Corvo’s body count. And with the recent betrayal from Billie, leaving seven whalers dead, plus the four who ventured out to the Distillery District and were cut down by Corvo, plus Malon who was captured by the overseers, not to mention the ever looming threat of the plague, everything seems to be going wrong these days.

“Prison does things to the mind. Torture. Who knows what he went through in Coldridge.” Pavel rolls onto his back, staring vacantly at the bunk above him. Jenkins just scoffs. “You see Mason out there killing everyone in his way? He didn’t even do anything to the voiddamned bastard who threw him in prison in the first place.”

“Not everyone is Mason.”

“He’s a special case,” Hobson adds quietly, his voice tired. “He took ten months in Coldridge, returned to the Abbey with his head high, _and_ became the Vice Overseer.”

Jenkins’ expression goes from irritated to pleased and he leans over to stub out his cigarette against the wall. His feelings for Mason haven’t changed at all, except perhaps growing deeper. Thomas wishes, fleetingly, that their lives could be simple enough for trivial things like that. His own feelings for Daud have no place in the world they built for themselves. It’ll all come crashing down eventually, just like this city. Their time is running short and they won’t last at this rate, not if Corvo finds where they’re hiding, not if Corvo doesn’t place Emily on the throne. Never mind that they risked their lives saving that girl from a life as Delilah’s puppet.

(and yes, they may have ruined her life to begin with but turning down Burrows meant certain death for sure. turning him down wasn’t ever an option. they were puppets in a much bigger game and they more than made up it for by saving Emily. Corvo was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time.)

They don’t deserve this. He narrows his eyes and continues his writing, spurred on by a fresh wave of anger. If Corvo comes for them, he’ll tear through every one of them to get to Daud. Thomas can’t let that happen. He won’t let Daud be killed, no matter how much the man seems to think it’s inevitable, that he _deserves_ it. He won’t, he can’t. Daud doesn’t deserve death.

 

* * *

 

Corvo does come. They leave his weakened body holed up far away from Daud but he comes anyway. He leaves bodies in his wake. The whalers who don’t get cut down as he makes his way through the Flooded District fight to protect Daud in what feels like a final battle.

There are _so many_ bodies. Thomas feels like vomiting. His mask is too hot and there is too much happening at once. Only five of them had even gone on the job and it somehow warrants the death of people who had nothing to do with it. _Children_. Corvo only cares about killing, stripping away his own humanity in a twisted way of getting revenge on the entire city for the actions of a few. The whole world is grey and black and red and all he can feel is the adrenalin that keeps him moving, keeps him transversing from place to place to avoid fatal blows and keep Corvo occupied enough so he moves away from his main target. _Defend Daud_. That’s his final mission. _Defend him until your dying breath_.

 

* * *

 

Daud is on the floor, clutching his side, his breathing shallow. Thomas is so tired. His legs shake but his hand is steady on his blade. He stands in between Corvo and Daud. That hideous mask of death glares down at him and if this is the last thing he ever sees then so be it.

“ _Get out_.” His voice is harsh even to his own ears. He distantly notices that he’s bleeding from several parts of his body.

Corvo doesn’t move. Of course he doesn’t. Why would he? He’s gotten this far. Thomas is sure he won’t leave until every last person in the Flooded District is dead. Thomas is simply another person in his way.

Jasper gasps from where she’s laying on the floor, clutching the gaping wound in her stomach. Beside her, Rulfio sputters and coughs up blood, hand pressed weakly against the wound near his neck. How long until they’re dead too? There are three more bodies in the room and they aren’t moving. Is he the only one still standing? They should have murdered Corvo when they had the chance. They should have drowned him in the river or slit his throat before he regained enough strength to come after them. The one time they don’t kill and it comes back to stab them all in the back.

The next events happen simultaneously all at once and agonizingly slow. Thomas sees Corvo move towards him, finality in his steps. Thomas prepares to parry, but from the corner of his eye he notices Hobson at the top of the stairs, reaching out with his bloody gloves and paralyzing Corvo with a tethering. It’s not as strong and won’t last as long as his own tethering but it’s _enough_ and Thomas lunges forward and plunges his sword through Corvo’s chest down to the hilt. The tethering tapers off and the world seems to hold its breath. Corvo grasps at the sword, looking down as if in disbelief. Thomas hears a deep sigh from behind him, someone mutters _it’s over_. He pulls his sword out. Corvo collapses in a heap, blood staining the front of his coat, a deep dark red that melds with the blood of criminals and innocents and children that already stain it.

 

* * *

 

In the end, twenty-five whalers remain out of fifty. The loss is too great.

 

* * *

 

He treats Daud’s wounds with hands that have not stopped shaking since he pulled his sword from Corvo’s chest. Daud looks at him with eyes that have never looked more tired than in this moment. At times, he seems far away, lost in his own thoughts. Then he snaps back to focus if Thomas’ stitching becomes too painful. Their three medics, Jenkins, Hobson, and Rinaldo, are all busy trying to patch up the others, trying to patch up themselves. He knows he should have gone to them first to get his own wounds checked but he hasn’t been able to leave Daud’s side. And he is no medic, but dammit it all to the void if he won’t help. Daud didn’t make any moves to go to their makeshift infirmary anyway.

Thomas wants to know what’s going on inside his head, wants to ask _what now_ , wants to voice so many things but he’s terrified that if he opens his mouth he’ll vomit or never stop screaming or crying. He has to keep his composure. He’s Daud’s second and he can’t fall apart. Not yet.

“That’s enough. I’ll be fine.” Daud’s voice startles him enough that he nearly drops the needle. It’s so loud in the otherwise fragile silence of the room. They’re far enough from the others that they don’t hear the cries of pain.

Thomas doesn’t want to know what he looks like and the expression he’s giving Daud (whatever it is makes Daud sigh, clearly having no energy to argue). He wishes he hadn’t taken off his mask. He digs through one of his pockets and pulls out his last health elixir, pressing it to Daud’s hands. He still doesn’t say anything because he _can’t_ because his throat is closed up against everything that’s built up inside him since this whole mess started. Belatedly, he notes that he’s still bleeding. His injuries throb in time with his heartbeat.

Daud takes the elixir in one swing, coughing only slightly. There is silence again and Thomas feels lightheaded. It’s over but it doesn’t _feel_ over. He doesn’t want to stay here anymore. Their home has been tainted since the overseers invaded but now it feels oppressive. Their family has been broken too severely and they can’t stay here. He can only hope that if Daud decides to leave for Serkonos (if those books of the isles he’s been reading are any indication) that he won’t be opposed to them joining him. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if Daud denies them.

Daud stares at him for a long moment, taking in his appearance, his erratic breathing. Thomas can’t imagine how he looks. He has a sudden urge to pull his mask on, hide his face from Daud’s deep stare, but the urge fades as quickly as it appears when Daud reaches over and takes the needle from Thomas’ unsteady hands.

“Take off your coat and shirt.”

It’s an order he’d never comply with aside from the relative privacy of the infirmary, but Daud is different. Daud has always been different. Wincing, he gingerly removes his coat, belts, and shirt, the fabric clinging to this open cuts stinging as he pulls them away. The cold air chills his heated body and he shivers, avoiding Daud’s gaze, as Daud reaches over and begins treating his wounds.

**Author's Note:**

> sooo this was for high chaos week but i was too slow. then i got discouraged and gave up on it.
> 
> 1\. Mason and Jasper are non-whaler characters of mine; Jasper is one of Daud's informants and Mason is an overseer who Jenkins is infatuated with.  
> 2\. as you can plainly see, Thomas doesn't seem to hold much remorse for the events that followed Jessamine's death. his priorities are a bit skewed... so you might view him as an kind of an unreliable narrator?  
> 3\. yes i counted from the dlc, seven whalers die because of the overseer raid on the flooded district.  
> 4\. i can't write fighting scenes.
> 
> leave a kudos or a comment if you liked it!


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